The Long Road Out of Eden
by Linda Atkinson
Summary: The history of the Winchester family's dealing with the Yellow Eyed Demon.


The Long Road Out of Eden

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings: This is not a slash story, but it does have some very vague slashy undertones of John/YED, John/OMC, vague implied het (John/Mary) and some John solo sex

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: Adult content, rough language, violence and bloodshed. Deals with demonly goings-on and flashbacks to John's time in Vietnam. There are religious themes in this story; I am not trying to advocate a single religion just using familiar themes to tell the story.

Summary: This is a background story of the yellow-eyed demon and his dealings with the Winchester family. John is not the first Winchester man to run into him or turn hunter.

Note: I am not a history buff. I know very little about Oliver Winchester, his wife, his family or Samuel Colt. Of the facts that I did get I took a lot of liberty in changing dates to suit my story.

**In the beginning…**

He was warm, bathed in the soft light and gentle thrum of his Father's presence. He floated in a dream-like state yet he was fully aware of what was happening around him. The world around him was so soft, so gentle and peaceful and yet not still. There was movement, so much movement and yet it was all soothing. He felt no urgency, no need to move other than the all consuming desire to be nearer to Father. He slipped closer feeling Father's love holding him up, keeping him secure.

He wasn't aware of when things changed, but they did. He was not as content as he had been, not so willing to bask in the warm glow of Father's love. He wanted…what he could not say. He was too young, too new to fully comprehend what he wanted, but he knew that he wanted. It was driving him to distraction.

The ground was moist, the grass green and lush, kept so by the gentle mist that swept across the garden. There were trees and animals and a multitude of things that were so different from the before place. He liked this place better although Father had not said that he could come here. He had taken the shape of one of the tree dwelling creatures that Father had put in the garden. Though it was small, and low to the ground, he could wriggle into the trees and watch as the man and the woman tended the garden and carried on their lives. It was enough of a distraction for a while, but something was still lacking.

After a time Father came to talk to the man and the woman and he heard Him telling them that they could not touch one of the trees. He, himself, had been in the tree many times. It didn't seem so bad; he didn't see why the man and the woman couldn't touch the tree or eat the fruit. He'd fix that.

He tried to talk to the man, but he wouldn't listen. So he went to talk to the woman. The man's rejection stung, and he was bitterly angry. But the woman was soft and sweet, and gentle, and the man loved her. He'd get to the man through the woman.

Father was angry with him. Now in this new form, more like a man than the animal he had hidden in, Father set his feet on the path and cast him out of the garden. He made his way along the road and never looked back.

**New Haven, Connecticut 1856**

Oliver Winchester looked at the broken slide on the rifle in his hands. The rifle he had bet a good chunk of his fortune on and was losing badly. His hands shook as he thought about Janey and the kids sitting at home waiting for Papa to return. Chest heaving in a sigh Oliver tugged the bottom drawer open on his desk and pulled a bottle out. There was a shot glass way back in the back of the drawer but he didn't bother. The whiskey was getting stale and he frowned. It still bit at his throat and caught his breath as it went down. It'd do in a pinch.

Frowning Oliver took another swig from the bottle and tossed the useless rifle slide onto his desk. He didn't want to tell Janey that he had spent the children's college money on the gun factory. He had been so sure that this was the one, the new repeating rifle that would revolutionize the arms industry. But as gifted a business man as he was Oliver had to admit to himself he was no engineer.

Rubbing his hand over his face Oliver rose stumbling to the huge plate glass window that filled the eastern wall of his office. Gazing out at the city streets he was struck by a sense of despair. Janey was going to kill him.

He was so absorbed in the few people wandering the sidewalk in front of the building that Oliver didn't hear the door to his office swing inward. The sound of a man clearing his throat caused him to whirl gasping aloud.

A short sandy-hair man dressed in a pin-striped suit and a bowler stood just inside the door, leaning against the frame. His blue eyes were warm, friendly and Oliver frowned when the late afternoon sunlight seemed to reflect a deep amber light in them.

The man smiled, "Oliver Winchester?"

Nodding he stepped forward thrusting out a hand. The man ambled into the office grinning, "My name is Ben…Benjamin Tyler Henry and I think I have the answer to all your problems."

Casting the stranger a long glance Oliver rolled his shoulders and motioned to the chair pulled up in front of his desk. Ben smiled reaching into his pocket. As he slid into the chair the other man pushed a piece of smooth machined metal across the desk to Oliver.

"What is this?" Oliver said awed by the smooth action of the slide as he clicked it into place. "You made this?"

Ben smiled, "Yep I made it and I can make it fit your rifle Oliver. You can make the repeater that you want. It'll set the arms industry on its ear. Pretty soon everyone will want a Winchester rifle."

"What do you want for this? You planning on cheating me out of fortune because, friend, I hate to tell you this but I ain't got a fortune any more."

Ben shrugged, "No I'm not all that interested in you buying the thing. I was thinking more along the lines of you and me becoming partners, I get a percentage of the business and maybe a couple of favors along the way."

"Favors, I ain't that kind of man." Oliver frowned the shrugged, Janey was gonna kill him any way. "I think that we can work something out, Ben, I really do."

Ben smiled his eyes glowed brightly and Oliver shrank back, the man had yellow eyes and that just wasn't natural. His hand shaking he reached across the desk to grasp the other man's outstretched palm.

Grasping the younger man's hand Ben grinned, "We're gonna be just like family Oliver."

"Maybe this is a mistake, you…you're not human are you?"

"I'm human enough for the likes of you Oliver Winchester. Let me tell you what I want. I want your soul Oliver or more precisely the soul of your newborn grandson."

Oliver choked, "I don't have a grandson you fool. Billy and Sarah aren't even married yet, and the girls just barely. Not a shotgun wedding in sight either."

"There will be a son someday. I've decided that the Winchesters are my chosen people. Your daughters or son will give me the special child to lead my army."

"No, you get the hell out of here…"

"Oh it's too late to say no Oliver, we already shook on it. The deal is done. You get your rifle and Janey doesn't have to know you squandered the college fund on guns. And I get my number one boy. It's all done."

"No, I'll do everything I can to stop you. I have friends…"

"Who? You and that idiot Samuel Colt? You called him a crazy bastard and threw him out of your house. I think you even told him you'd fill him full of buckshot if he ever darkened your door again."

"That crazy fool is out in Wyoming building his railroad that goes nowhere, but maybe just maybe…I was wrong. I should have listened to Sam. He knows about your kind."

"Yeah, but he'll never help you now, Oliver. Your grandson is mine." Ben smiled letting his hand stoke over the other man's palm. Oliver recoiled from the touch. "I'm telling you Oliver I'll see a Winchester walk into the gates of hell and he'll do it on his own two feet."

Choking back his outrage Oliver Winchester shoved his chair back, groaning. Ben tapped the metal slide for the rifle on the desk.

"You use this slide Oliver. It'll do everything I told you." Ben grinned again tipping his hat. "I'll leave you to run the business, friend. But I will check in with you from time to time."

Hands shaking Oliver jerked the door to his office closed. Taking a deep breath he trotted around the corner to the stable behind the building. His horse drawn carriage was waiting at the gate and the stable boy handed Oliver the reins.

His house was not too far from the downtown business district and Oliver whipped the horse up making the trip in record time. Billy was on the front porch waiting for his father to get home. He rose when the older man pulled into the driveway and grabbed the horse's halter.

"Papa, you okay?"

"Billy I don't want you to say anything to your Ma but I've got a job for you to do. I'll talk to you about it after supper. Help me get the horse and carriage put away."

Bill Winchester looked down at his father from the back of his horse. Oliver was pacing back and forth muttering to himself over the letter in his hands. Frowning he stared back at the house for a few minutes then stalked across the porch and shoved the envelope into his son's hand.

"Billy, you ride quick to hear me. I wired Sam Colt in Wyoming two days ago and I got an answer at the telegraph office just this morning. God forgive me for doing this to you boy, but you've got to pick up the slack or your wife and sisters ain't never gonna survive this, not to mention your Ma. Sam says he has a gun for you. He made it years ago, while his workers were laid up and couldn't work on that infernal railroad of his. The gun was made on the night Colonel Travis, Jim Bowie, Sam Huston and Dave Crockett died in San Antonio, the night that bright star was over head. Sam told me this gun will kill this yellowed-eyed fellow, but we need to get it here."

"You don't have to worry on my account, Pa. You just watch over Mama and the girls what with Ann and Charles expecting."

Oliver nodded, "Just ride hard, and don't stop for nothing. You hear me boy?"

**New Haven Connecticut 1864**

Oliver stood over the crib of his first born grandchild. Little Francis was six months old and Oliver had been filled with a sense of dread that had only grown every day since the boy was born. His daughter Ann was still recovering from the birth which had been difficult.

Janey came into the room taking the baby from her husband's arms. She offered him a prim smile, "I swear Ollie you never showed so much interest in your own children. What about this little fellow has you so stirred up?'

"That's not a fair thing to say Janey; you know I had a business to run. I guess now I'm just a bit more settled down. I can afford to take to time with Frank."

Shoot him a withering glare Jane snapped, "Francis… you are not giving him some heathen nickname after one of your gun fighting friends."

Oliver shrugged, "I wasn't thinking about Frank James when I said that Janey. Don't go on like that."

The light on the nightstand beside the crib flickered and Oliver frowned. "Janey why don't you go get the baby a bottle. I'm gonna go check the gas lines the lights are flickering."

Settling the baby in his crib Jane Winchester watched her husband disappear down the hall toward the back door. The main connection for the gas lines into the house was at the back porch. Ann and Charles were just getting in from their evening out when she got to the kitchen. The kitchen girl was sweeping and she stood a little ways back as the lady of the house opened the ice-box and fetched the baby a bottle.

"Put on a pot of water so I can warm this for the baby, Marybeth."

"Yes'm," the girl said stoking the fire in the cast iron stove and setting a copper pot on the top. She filled the pot and carefully lowered the bottle in. "I'll watch it Mrs. Winchester."

Ann looked more relaxed and less pale than she had before and Jane was grateful. Charles nodded toward the hall to the bedrooms.

"Is Pa back there?"

"No," Jane said. "There was a problem with the gas lines, the lights are flickering. He's out back."

Giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek, then his mother in law Charles headed back to the rear of the house to see his father in law. Jane stood beside the stove, relieving the girl of standing watch on the bottle and motioned her daughter into the nursery.

"Go check on Francis, I'll be right in. And don't let your father convince you to call that baby some tacky nickname either."

Laughing Ann waved at her mother and walked down the hall. The nursery lights were flickering she could see that from the hallway and Ann frowned. A dark shape was standing beside the crib. Stepping forward the young woman called out quietly.

"Papa, is that you?"

The figure whirled and Ann gasped. The man standing beside her son's crib was not her father, although she thought she might have seen him before. Taking a step back the young woman put a hand to her breast.

"Oh you startled me…I thought…" Ann stuttered to a halt. Fear clenched her heart in her chest as the man's eyes glowed deep amber in the dim light of the room. "Who are you?"

"An old friend of the family Miss Annie."

Smiling he raised a hand and Ann staggered back hand grasping her abdomen. Blood seeped from beneath her frock, staining the pale gray satin. Gasping Ann looked down feeling the warm fluid leaking over he hands. With a whimper she staggered forward groaning as the stranger patted her baby's face.

"No…you don't touch him."

Rising a hand the yellowed eyed man flung Ann through the air and her body hit the wall with a dull thud. Slowly she slid up the wall until she was suspended above the crib. Staring down at her baby's face Ann tried to cry out, but the words died in her throat.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement from the hall and Ann could just see her father and her husband coming into the door. Oliver Winchester strode forward grabbing Ben's arm. But he found himself flung off. Turning he cried out at Charles.

The younger man was standing in the room gaping at his wife's body pinned to the ceiling. Charles stood rooted to the floor unable to tearing his eyes away from the terrible sight. Then as he cringed in horror as flames erupted from Ann's belly flaring brightly in the dim room.

Oliver yelled, "Charles for god's sake take the baby."

Ben whirled and Oliver dropped heavily to the floor. Jumping forward Charles managed to grab the baby and flee.

Oliver looked at the body of his oldest child, pinned above him, being consumed in flames. The curtains were afire now and the room filled with smoke. Still he forced Ben into the corner.

"Ann wasn't a Winchester, and neither is Francis. He's a Dye like his daddy. You had no right."

"She had your blood in her Oliver."

"No, you over stepped. Billy's sons will be Winchesters. You cheated on this one and I'm gonna make sure you pay somehow."

Sinking back Ben dodged the other man and fled the room. Oliver turned running up the hall after him. They tumbled out the rear door where Oliver could see Jane, the other children and the servants gathered at the fence away from the burning house. Far off in the distance Oliver could hear the bells as the fire brigade made its way down the street. Turning Oliver managed to corner Ben again.

"You lied and you cheated. I made a deal for a Winchester and by god you overstepped."

"So maybe I did but I know that Sarah is barren. She'll never bear a child."

"Then she and Billy are safe?"

"I made a deal for a Winchester and I'll see a Winchester in hell Oliver. You or your boy."

"Not if I can help it. You lied and cheated well, I got a wire from Sam Colt and he's sending man to deal with the likes of you. Got that special gun and all. You're time is done."

"You can't back out on me now or I'll take 'em all, Oliver."

"We'll see about that, friend. I can't get out of this deal but I'll make you a new one. For Sarah…she's a Winchester."

"What kind of deal?"

"Her soul in exchange for Billy."

"You'd do that? Give me your daughter in law to save your son? Okay, I'll leave your girls alone."

"I got one condition though…Billy and Sarah are going to California. They're going to build a place out there. You can have Sarah as soon as the house is finished."

Smiling Ben held out a hand, "Okay deal."

**San Jose, California 1866**

Sarah Winchester stood in the front yard of the small temporary house she and her husband shared. They had the foundations dug for the larger building and she planned on making it the grandest house in San Jose.

Down the street Sarah could see Billy's wagon as he made his way home from downtown. He had gone to the shops and to the post office. They were expecting another letter from Oliver and Jane.

In her last letter Jane had said that Oliver and Charles Dye had had a falling out and Oliver had told Charles to take the baby and get out of his house. Jane was distraught and she hadn't seen Charlie or little Francis since.

Sarah sighed. After Ann's death two years earlier Oliver had gone off. He insisted that Bill and Sarah come to California and start a gun factory here in San Jose. He'd even had Samuel Colt meet them here and get them set up on this piece of land.

Bill pulled the wagon into the yard and jumped down. Several of the men working on the foundations of the house came over and began unloading the wagon. Bill walked around handing his wife a packet of letters he had picked up at the post office.

The top letter Sarah recognized as the lavender stationary used by Jane Winchester. She ripped into the letter and read through dismayed. Finally with a shaking hand she gave the letter to her husband.

"Oh god, Papa is mad," she whispered.

"I don't think he's mad." Bill offered, and Sarah turned on him tapping the letter with a slender finger.

"He thinks that a demon is after us. How is that not mad?"

Bill flinched thinking back to the wild ride had had made years before in search of a gun made by Samuel Colt. He frowned as he recalled how angry his father had been when he found out that Colt had given the gun to someone else. Sighing Bill scrubbed his hand over his face.

"Well Ann's death hit him pretty hard."

Sarah nodded, "I know but Billy…a demon and with yellow eyes. We can't let him go on like this."

"Well, what the hell can we do? Pa's a Winchester and a stubborn man."

Frowning Sarah glanced down at her hands, "Do you think that he's angry with me because we can't have children?"

"No, my cousin David has two boys; they'll carry on the Winchester name. You know Pa gets set in his ways. If he says that we need to keep adding on to the house and never let construction stop then that's what we'll do."

"Bill this is crazy…"

"I mean it Sarah, if my father says that he is haunted by the ghosts of all the people killed by Winchester rifles and that we need to shelter their spirits by building a huge house and never letting the construction stop then we can do that. We got plenty of money he made sure of that."

"All right Billy. We'll do it. I'll write and tell him that as long as I'm alive this house will never be finished."

**Lawrence, Kansas 1981**

_Mary muttered in her sleep rolling over, her brows furrowed as she found herself not lying bed next to her husband but standing in the street staring at a store front in downtown Lawrence. The plate glass window was smudged with little dirty fingerprints but she knew they weren't Dean's. The two year old was fast asleep tucked into the crook of her neck._

_With a sigh Mary stared down at the gleaming wooden crib in the display case. Dean's crib was gone now, donated to the YWCA tag sale and in its place was the single bed John had spent the weekend assembling. He had spent most of the afternoon taking down the nursery and transforming their firstborn son's room into a little boy's paradise._

_A shiver ran up her spine as the wind whipped around the corner of the building catching her squarely in the face. A voice whispered across her skin and Mary jerked._

_"Hello Miss Mary, come looking for things that you can't have?"_

_Casting a glance around her Mary frowned at the audacity of anyone who would mock a woman feeling so down and blue. When Dean had been born she and John were ecstatic, they had been told they would never have a child due to scar tissue from John's wounds in the war. But Dean was their miracle baby. She felt so ungrateful as she gazed down at her child, wanting another miracle._

_The voice whispered closer, and she could feel the ghost of warm breath on her neck, over her ear. _

_"What would you give for that second miracle, Miss Mary?"_

_"Anything…" Mary said ashamed and excited at the same time. Her hands were trembling as she grasped little Dean's cubby fingers. He flinched at Mommy's tight grip offering a little mewl of protest. Mary shook his arm and immediate felt the heat rise in her cheeks._

_"Anything?' the voice echoed. Closing her eyes Mary nodded, feeling like she had just made a deal with the devil._

She woke with a start and rolled over. John was a sleep beside her, mouth slightly agape with a little stream of drool glistening on the stubble on his chin. Giggling Mary swatted him on the shoulder. With a grunt John rolled over eyes still firmly closed. Mary frowned that wouldn't do at all.

Taking a firm hold of his arm she shook him, but it was like a gazelle trying to budge a gorilla. He rolled slightly then floundered over onto his side making sure that his arm swung around catching her waist bearing her down to the bed.

"Uhmmm," John groaned pressing his nose into the side of her gauzy white nightgown,. Mary flinched remembering the so inelegant puddle on his face.

"Ewww, don't John. You drool."

"Is that so?" he asked smiling suddenly the covers erupted in a flurry of movement. John grabbed Mary's hips dragging her down until he was above her face to face. "Drool you say?"

John's morning stubble was hard and rough against the skin of Mary's neck and she shrieked trying to shove him away.

"No! No…no don't do that, it's disgusting."

"So you find me disgusting do you? Well I guess you don't get this then," John's hips came down with a slow rocking motion rubbing his groin against Mary's thigh. She shivered at the feeling of hard flesh sliding over the material of her nightgown. His rocking increased and the heat and hardness at his groin increased as well.

"Ahh, please I want it," Mary sighed, fingers tangling in the elastic band of his boxers. The hard ridges of his abdomen were slick with sweat, and so was the wild, tangle of dark hair. Her fingers slid forward and John moaned.

Sighing Mary pressed her slim hand to her belly. She still wasn't sure if she was pregnant again. Her period was late, ten days and that was unusual. She had been regular since she was twelve...every thirty days on the dot. You could set a clock by it. John would be ecstatic. With a smile Mary sighed again looking around the room for her son. He was standing in the corner with a _look_ on his face. One that she was more than familiar with.

Laughing a little breathlessly she caught up to him and lifting him in the air, "Oh you are getting to be such a big boy Dean. Now tell Mama what you did?"

The smirk on his little face was pure John. "I didn't do nuthin' Mama."

Cocking her head Mary pressed her forehead to her son's, "You've been doing an awful lot of _nuthin'_ today Deano."

Dean shot her a deer in the headlights look then grinned hooking his thumb in his mouth, "Daddy's almost done puttin' up my big boy bed. Do ya' wanna come an see Mama?"

Suddenly the sound of the hammer ringing on metal as John worked on the shelving unit took on a decidedly un-metal sound followed by a bellow and a flurry of cussing. Mary snorted out a laugh and shook her head at her little boy.

"I tell you what I've got to go down to the plaza, down to Mr. and Mrs. Henry's bakery and pick up some special bread to go with the stew for dinner tonight. Do you want to come for a little trip with me?"

"Okay, Mama." Dean said with a smile.

Mary pulled the station wagon over to the curb and parked. Glancing out the window she slid out of the seat and walked briskly around to the rear door helping Dean out of his car seat. The little boy teetered on the edge of the curb before grabbing his mother's hand.

"We'll be quick. I want to get back to the house before the stew gets done. Come on Deano and I'll get you a cookie at the bakery." Mary grasped her son's hand gently tugging him along. Dean staggered then caught up walking beside his mother quietly.

The bakery was on the other side of the street but there had been no parking. Between the two buildings was a long alley used by delivery trucks. Mary glanced down the alley not liking the deep shadows at the middle where the building's overhang blocked out the sun, but it would be quicker.

Taking a more firm hold on Dean's small hand she ducked into the alley and marched purposely down the bumpy asphalt. The reached the deepest part of the shadowed area and Mary pulled up short. There was a noise behind her to the left.

Suddenly the shadows stirred then a form rose up. Mary gasped, "Who's there?"

A deep voice cut through the darkness and a man stepped out. He was tall, taller than John, a big bulky mountain of a man with ragged clothes stained with grease and other dirt. His face split in a smile.

"Hello, little lady. Where you goin? You got any money for Ol' Pete?"

Stumbling back Mary pulled Dean behind her, "Uh…Pete…is it? I'm sorry I don't have any money."

She turned to dart back up the alley but he was quicker than Mary had given him credit for being and he caught her by the arm. Grabbing her bag he tugged and Mary felt Dean stiffen at her side. Suddenly the little boy reached out making a grab for his mother's purse. A scowl crossed the big man's face, and he took a swipe at the boy. Mary uttered a shrill little cry.

Movement behind them both caused every one to pause. Pete stepped back looking at the newcomer with narrowed eyes. The man wasn't as large as him, looked to be on the shortish side and Pete grinned.

"Plenty for everyone; we can share."

"I don't play well with others," the man said smiling and his pale blue eyes seemed to flash amber in the afternoon sunlight. Mary took a hesitant step away from Pete toward the man her eyes begging for help. He smiled.

"Don't worry Miss. It'll be okay. Pete, my man, you want to go."

Something about the turn of the man's head, or the light in eyes sent Pete reeling back, head contacting the wall with a dull thud. He grumbled rubbing his skull but whatever he saw more than convinced him to move out. He turned lumbering down the alley disappearing around the corner of the building.

Mary slumped back pulling Dean to her with a half stifled sob. The man touched her shoulder and Mary flinched. He smiled but it never seemed to reach his eyes. Patting Dean on the head he said, "Are you okay, Mary?"

"Uhmm, yes. I…what did you say?" Mary frowned not sure that she had told him her name. She glanced down watching as his hand stroked over the downy, blonde hair on her little boy's head. Finally she pulled herself together. 'Thank you…"

"Oh no problem. I know it must have been scary thinking that your little boy was going to die, that you might die and that little one inside you never get to see the light of day."

"What?"

"Oh that's okay. I know that a mother would do anything to see her child protected. Is that true? Would you do anything for him?"

Her brow wrinkled and Mary felt the tension drain out of her body. Dean looked over his shoulder at her tugging his mother's hand. Mary frowned as if he wasn't even there. Her mind wandered back to the dream she had had the night before. The man in front of her seemed familiar, his voice was soothing, easing her fears and troubles. He smiled and Mary smiled back.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'd do anything for him."

"That's good Mary. That's a good girl. It'll all turn out you'll see."

He smiled as he watched Mary and the little boy walk way. Mary was in too deep now, but there was still her husband to deal with. Well, he'd done it before. He'd get to the man through the woman.

**Lawrence, Kansas. April 2, 1982.**

Mary rolled over again jostling John out of an uneasy sleep. Huffing out a breath he turned, jerking as he felt the feather-light touch of fingers on his bare arm. With a half-strangled shout John bolted upright in the bed. Mary was still and quiet.

He tugged the blankets up and rolled over staring at his wife's bare back in the dim moonlight. A smile crept across John's face and he was just about to drift off again when he saw something vague in the corner. It was just the shadow of the drapes on the wall but it seemed to shift to pull itself together into a dark column.

John half rose again before he dismissed the thing as a trick of his mind. He rolled over turning his back to the window. He ignored the prickly feeling between his shoulder blades that he always got when he was being stared out.

John's eyes closed his breathe evening out into slumber. The shadows coalesced into a vague man-shaped thing that moved silently and swiftly to the bed. The figure stooped, amber eyes glinting gently in amusement. Long slim fingers stroked over John's ear and he twitched once but didn't wake.

"Shhhhh, Johnny boy. It's okay, just remember."

_John staggered away from the road into the jungle. The night air was hot, steamy and his lungs screamed in protest at the influx of moisture. Rain was beginning to drizzle down, wetting his hair even as short as it was. He rubbed his scalp feeling the sticky wetness of sweat and raindrops. _

_Jason Coltrane was huddled beneath a tree in the clearing up ahead and John heaved a sigh almost turning away when he heard the unmistakable sounds of the older man pissing against the underbrush. Gulping in a breath John slid his M-16 down propping it against the tree while he fumbled with the fly of his fatigues. Another sigh hissed between his teeth as the stream of urine hit the bushes. When John finished he fumbled his trousers closed again but paused when he felt the other man staring at him. His belt slipped out of his rain-slicked fingers as John turned._

_The other man took two uncertain steps forward and when John didn't fasten his pants and flee he came the rest of the way, standing mutely in front of John. With a frown John eased back but didn't object when the young sergeant's hands clasped his waist for a few brief seconds before sliding forward. Jase's fingers were warm against his skin, the short hairs scraping over the tender flesh of his abdomen and John found himself caught in pale blue eyes. His stomach contracted when Jase rubbed the back of his knuckles over the fine line of hair trailing from John's navel to parts south. John swallowed hard. There was something in the older man's face… raw need maybe, or a desire for something that John didn't think he had it in him to give, but he was willing to try, even if it was just for a few minutes._

_The sun had set before the two men heard the sarge's voice calling the men back into line, moving them on toward the village that John had began to believe didn't really exist at all. The rain had become a full blown storm, lighten flashed on the horizon although that might have been aerial fire or napalm. But John thought that napalm was less likely, given the weather condition, maybe a ground fire from earlier though. _

_He tugged his belt loose and re-tucked his t-shirt patting the wet material into his fatigue pants and grimacing as the cold shirt dribbled water onto his groin. He was relaxed for the first time in days but not willing to spend much time on the reason why. Jase was tagging along after John with a swagger in his steps that made the younger man believe that he was going to have to put the other man in his place pretty damn soon. _

John woke with a start. His face was slick with sweat and he groaned. He was hard, aching with need, and the brief flash of memory in the dream had shook John to the very core. Rolling over he spooned up behind Mary sliding a hand along her thigh. Then he stopped.

Mary was nine and half months now, and on bed rest. She was having so much more trouble with this baby than Dean and John frowned, concerned. It didn't seem right that she would be sick this much the second time around, but the doctor assured them both that every baby was different. John wasn't sure that he wanted another after this one. He was uneasy most of the time and Mary was distant and growing more so as her time grew closer.

He eased away from Mary's back and rolled over staring up at the ceiling in the dim early morning light. The dream had unsettled John. He so rarely thought about Vietnam any more. Sure he had had one or two flashbacks early on, but the garage and Mary and Dean had eased him out of that.

Now there was something unsettling over the household. Mary was quiet, more than she had ever been and her constant sense of waiting worried John. He glanced at the curve of her shoulder, bare and smooth. Her back was rigid even in sleep, and that wasn't the easy going fun-loving girl he had married. Something was bothering her enough that she was withdrawing from her husband and son.

Grunting John willed his hard-on to go away, and was shocked when the dream came flooding back to him full force. He always thought what had happened in the jungle would stay there, but some nights especially the past couple of months since there had been no sex because of Mary's medical condition, it all came back with a vengeance. John had never told her that part of the story, never would.

Taking a deep breath John slid the waistband of his boxers down letting his knuckles scrape over the satiny smooth hot flesh. He winced when Mary grumbled in her sleep, hand jerking away. Casting a lingering look at his wife's back John rolled to his feet and staggered to the bathroom.

The bathroom door bounced open a little behind him and John was consumed with guilt. Pushing the door more firmly shut John flicked on the lights and straddled the toilet. Bracing himself with his left hand he stared for a long minute at the glint of metal on his finger.

The wallpaper was floral, big roses and dark green leaves. Leaves that had always reminded John of the canopy of vines and trees in the jungle. Taking another deep breath John stroked the rough texture letting his eyes drift closed. The face that flashed in his mind's eye wasn't Mary and he jerked involuntarily. With trembling fingers John pulled the elastic band of his shorts over his aching flesh shoving them down. With a guilty glance at the door over his shoulder John reached for the bottle of scented lotion, Mary wore, nestled on the porcelain tray on the vanity.

John turned the bathroom lights off studiously ignoring the wad of soiled tissue in the trash basket. The bathroom door swung closed behind him and John carefully wandered into the room, feeling in the floor for his discarded t-shirt. Shrugging the shirt over his shoulders John dug up a pair of sweatpants and his tattered old blue robe.

With a sigh he slipped out of the room and headed down to the den knowing that he wasn't likely to get back to sleep for a while. With a grin he picked up a section of the newspaper then rummaged around the floor for the remote to the TV. Flopping down on the couch John grunted and tossed the paper on the table.

The sofa was hot and scratchy against his back, and John picked up the remote from the table flicking the TV on. Scrolling through the channels he finally found an old John Wayne movie. The Sand Pebbles, he thought. The film was an older copy, back and white and the sweep of trees in the background tugged John's mind back to Vietnam. He flinched. Why was he having so much damn trouble with this thing now?

**Lawrence, Kansas November 2, 1982.**

John bounced baby Sammy on his hip as the little boy nodded still fighting sleep. The baby grumbled and John sighed yet again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Wishing that Mary was feeling better John rocked the baby watching as his son's eyes drooped then closed. Finally, a slight smile crawled across John's face and he tiredly slipped the baby into the crib.

Carefully John backed out of the room glancing at the crib over his shoulder. The baby muttered a tiny squawk in his sleep and John froze, breath catching in his chest. He smiled when Sammy settle down sleeping peacefully. John had been putting in a lot of hours at the garage, he and Mary were strained, walking around each other on eggshells and waiting for the storm to break.

John just didn't understand. Mary hadn't been like this when Dean was born. What was wrong? Mike Guthrie told him it was what Kate called Post-partum depression. Said a lot of women got it. He wasn't sure about that, but John just wanted things to be like they were before.

Pausing at the open door to their bedroom John by-passed the room and headed in to check on Dean. His firstborn son was snuggled contentedly in his bed and John stroked and hand over the silky blond curls. Dean was his daddy's boy, always had been, and it pissed his mother off royally. John chuckled at that.

Rolling over Dean stared up at his father with sleepy eyes.

"Daddy, is everything okay?"

"Sure it is buddy, everything's fine. I just wanted to check that you were asleep. Sammy was being kinda noisy," John said smiling. Dean shot his father a look.

"Sammy is always noisy. Maybe he's broken, Daddy. Maybe we should take him back."

"I'm afraid we're kinda stuck with him, kiddo."

"It figures." Dean sighed as if he was the most put upon person in the world and John snickered.

"Go back to sleep. See you in the morning."

With a grin John pulled the door to Dean's room almost closed leaving it open just enough to be able to hear his son if he should call out during the night. Dean had been plagued with nightmares since Sammy had been born. He and Mary assumed it was just sibling rivalry and that they could go away in time. John could sympathize he had been having his share of nightmares as well. He frowned slipping quietly back into his bedroom.

The sheets were cold against his back and John yawned widely, turning to spoon up behind Mary. She flinched and pulled away from him, and he felt his heart sink. This had to stop. Whatever it was, John intended to sit down with his wife and talk this out, as hard as that might be. Feeling better he slid into sleep.

The shadows beside the moonlit window drew in on themselves again. A dark form walked across the room kneeling beside the bed. He leaned forward breath ghosting across John's cheek.

"Don't worry; you won't need to have the talk Johnny. It'll all be over come morning time. In the meantime, think about the jungle Johnny; think about what happened all that long time ago."

_The jungle was hot, humid and sweat was creeping down his back. Jase Coltrane followed John out of the clearing heeding the other sergeant's call to fall in. John sighed he had forgotten what the hell they were humping through the hot, moist air, and the thick foliage and the shitty, dirty swamp water for anymore. _

_He fell into line about half-way down the column and felt the older man slide up behind him. Jase's hand was on John's arm, almost proprietarily and John stiffened. He had seen other guys in the unit get a little too chummy and heard what some of the men said about them behind their back. The last two ended up alone on the hillside and were the first ones in the line of fire._

_John turned snarling for Coltrane to back off when all hell broke loose. There was a scream of artillery and the ground beside John and the sergeant rolled, shifting, then exploding upward. A shower of soggy clots of mud sprayed over the line of men and John flinched as something wet slid down the back of his neck. Reaching around his fingers came away sticky and he frowned. The moist substance was entirely too crimson for mud. _

_His head was spinning and John jerked the M-16 up firing across the muddy rice paddy into the thick canopy of jungle on the other side. Pulling back John stumbled over something lying on the ground and fell flat. Jase was huddled in a ball face twisted in agony and John's hand came down on his thigh. It was greasy with blood, slick and warm and there didn't seem to be enough leg there for Jase's long frame. John winched._

_Suddenly the tree above him erupted in flames and John threw himself across the prone body of his friend sheltering him from further harm. Struggling with the shoulder strap of the weapon John tugged his gun over and half rose firing at the position the grenade had come from. Men scattered wading into the rice paddy._

_A plane streaked over head screaming in the misty afternoon air. Suddenly the foliage on the other side of the soggy field erupted in a sheet of fire as the napalm hit the ground. The sounds of men screaming brought a smile to John's lips._

_It took half an hour before the Med Evac 'copters got to the rice field. They managed to get the first of the helicopters landed on the pitted, deeply rutted road so it didn't get bogged down in mud._

_John had been working getting the wounded onto the blankets and ready to be strapped in to stretchers for evacuation. Jase Coltrane was wrapped in his mud splattered field jacket with his helmet beside his shoulder. John trotted up the road and paused as he came across a combat boot lying in the ditch. Picking it up he flinched when John saw that the remains of a man's foot were still crammed into the boot._

_Jase turned as much as he could tightly wrapped in the jacket and shrugged a shoulder at John shooting him a twisted grimace that the younger man supposed was a smile. John watched as the medics hustled the young sergeant onto a stretcher. Not knowing what else to do he dropped the boot on the bed beside his friend. Jase looked at the stub of bone protruding from the blood-soaked leather then frowned. _

_"Johnny, is that my foot?"_

_Swallowing hard John nodded, "Yeah, Jase, I think it is."_

Crying out John bolted upright in bed. With a quick glance over his shoulder he rolled over standing up. The bathroom door looked like the Gates of Hell yawning open for him and John backed away shaking, heart pounding. Instead of going into the bathroom John shrugged into his robe and trotted out of the bedroom and down the hall.

He paused for a few seconds at the door to Dean's room, then passed by and headed down the stairs. The den was more open, and John felt less claustrophobic in the big, airy room. He flicked on the light and dropped heavily onto the sofa.

Raking his fingers through his hair John picked up the remote turning the TV on and scrolling through the channels until he found an old black and white movie. He recognized John Wayne's face and frowned as the memory of the night he had spent on the sofa six moths earlier flashed through his mind.

The TV was low, and steady soothing hum pulsing at the back of his brain, and John leaned back letting he shoulders go limp. His head dropped to one side and his eyes closed.

Mary woke with a start hand groping across the bed looking for the sturdy, steadying presence of her husband. John wasn't in the bed. Frowning she wiped the sleep out of her eyes and struggled to sit up. Something seemed off in the feel of the room. It was stuffy, the warm air deep and oppressive, and Mary groaned.

Her back was aching. She felt tired all the time and Mary knew that John didn't understand her reluctance to accept Sammy. He was a good baby, rarely cried and John had taken to him right away, of course he didn't know about the strange man that haunted Mary's dreams, the man with yellow eyes.

Shuffling to her feet Mary slipped out of bed pausing on the landing at the top of the stairs. She could hear the TV on in the den, and knew that John was probably asleep on the sofa by now. Debating whether or not to wake her husband Mary turned instead to the nursery door. She frowned again. A dark shape was standing over the crib, and Mary could hear the baby cooing.

Stepping forward Mary whispered, "John?"

The low chuckle startled Mary and she winced. That was not her husband's voice. She started to call out for John, started to stalk forward and grab the intruder by the arm, but something familiar wrapped around her brain freezing Mary in her tracks.

The man at the crib turned, smiling, his eyes gleaming amber in the darkened room. Mary flinched away from him.

"You!" she called out.

The figure at the crib nodded, he raked a hand through the air over the baby's face.

"Yeah, you said anything. Well, I've come to collect. And this is what I want."

Mary's brows furrowed, "Sammy…my baby?"

"Wrong Mary, my baby," the man smiled.

"No, "Mary cried. Turning she drew a breath to call out for John.

His hand flashed out and Mary felt her arms clamped to her sides. Struggling she tried to call out, but no sound would come from her mouth. He chuckled walking slowly around her.

"It's much too late to say no, my dear. Wow, it's been a long road out of Eden, and a long time coming. You know Mary, years ago I told old Oliver that I'd see a Winchester walk into the Gates of Hell, and he'd do it on his own two feet. Well, now I've got it. Sammy here will be my wonder-boy; he'll open the gates and take his rightful place in my army."

The man stepped forward hand thrust out and Mary grunted as the air was forced out of her lungs. She struggled hands going to her throat. With a groan Mary clasped her hand to her belly and was shocked when her fingers came away red with blood.

Turning she staggered to the door of the nursery, but the figure beside the crib raised his own hand as if beckoning her. Mary's feet shuffled on the thick carpet then she flew across the room, banging against the wall with a dull thud.

Bare feet kicking Mary slid up the wall, as she fought the invisible hands choking the life out of her. Mouth gaping Mary managed to struggle against the hands dragging her ever upwards. With a groan she gasped out her husband's name.

In the den John rolled his back aching. He came awake slowly confused and uncertain of where he was at first. Then John realized that he had fallen asleep again on the sofa. Recalling the dream that had scared him awake a few hours early John flinched. He had been angry at Jason Coltrane but he hadn't wanted anything to happen to the guy. Still years ago, with the fear and shame, the eighteen year old boy he had been couldn't understand that. He had believed, maybe still believed, that it was his fault that Jase had gotten hurt.

Rubbing his hands over his face John sighed, hunching over letting his elbows rest on his knees. A sound from the nursery caught John's attention, a dull thumping sound. Briefly he wondered if Mary had dropped the baby, then a thin slice of doubt crept into his mind, maybe she had hurt him on purpose.

Feeling disgusted with himself for even thinking such a thing John rose quickly. The half- strangled gasp from Mary brought him fully awake and John took the stairs two at a time. The landing was thick with smoke and he shoved the nursery door opened eyes going wide with fear.

John screamed out Mary's name as he reached for the baby in the crib. She was pinned to the ceiling, blood dripping from the gash in her belly. Her eyes rolled and he knew that she was still alive, still suffering and his heart clenched.

Suddenly fire erupted from the gash across Mary's abdomen, fire from inside her. John cringed, had she been burning up from the inside, why hadn't she screamed in pain, was she too far gone for that? He stumbled forward and managed to get his shaking hands around Sammy's blanket wrapped form.

Taking a few steps away from the crib John shambled across the room like a zombie in one of those horror movies Mary was…had been… so fond of watching. His shaking progress forward was brought to an abrupt halt by his older son's small body in the doorway.

Sparing a brief glance over his shoulder John stooped down shoving the baby into the little boy's waiting arms.

"Run, Dean. Take your brother outside and don't look back."

Straightening John watched as his older son disappeared through the door with his baby brother huddled in his small frail arms. The flames leapt forward curling down to the crib catching the blankets, and embers flashed through the air toward him. Still John pressed forward trying vainly to reach his wife. What was left of his wife; he cringed at the thought. But the flames were too thick, too fast and he was forced back.

"Mary…Mary," John screamed over the roar of the fire, but only the sound of flames could be heard in the empty room. Finally he had to concede defeat. Mary was gone, ripped from him and he had two little boys to live for, who needed their father now that their mother was gone. He ducked back casting one last lingering glance at the burning crib.

The room exploded behind him as John fled the house. In a darkened corner a figure coalescent in the pale moonlight spilling into the window. Roughly man-shaped the figure gathered together becoming dark, forming a face. The eyes flickered open following John's flight down the stairs and out the door. Then the dark man smiled, eyes flashing amber.

"You think that was so tough, you think that the jungle made you do things that no man should have to do. Well Johnny-boy you ain't seen nothing yet. That was a cakewalk compared to what you're gonna do." He chuckled.

"Welcome to the real jungle, Johnny…"

The End


End file.
